Coming Out

I read that we never get

to stop coming out.

Well I came out to myself the other day,

Stepped out of my glass closet for a moment,

Well, not so much a class closet than one of those

Cabinets old people use to store their china
I am transparent, the way I hoard your gifts,

Your presents, your presence.

I never tell the ones who need to hear it the most.

Instead I let it rest on my lips the way I wish yours would

And flitter round my tongue the way I want yours to,

But I can’t.

Because I only tell you in sighs I hope you read

Or maybe see it in my gazes that linger too long

Or notice how I touch you too often, sit too close,

Smile too much.
I am transparent in my cabinet as I watch your hands

Dance across tabletops.

But I would never come out to you.

I much rather confess to strangers on the internet,

Or in ambiguously phrased verse,

That I dream about you at night

And I think of you all day

And while I may joke about others,

Everything I say I love about them,

Just reminds me of you.